


Sesame Street

by evlrosi



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, M/M, Masochism, Painplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:28:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25634308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evlrosi/pseuds/evlrosi
Summary: Dick and Jason got so lost in the gray area of their existence they finally found a common language. For this, they had to relearn ABC.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Kudos: 13





	Sesame Street

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Улица Сезам](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/659392) by evlrosi. 



Jason carefully dropped a blob of melted plastic from the hot tip of a glue gun on a circuit board and stuck a few wires in it. The aim of his action was evident: Dick glanced over a foil roll, TNT blocks looking like bricks of hard soap, removed backplates of a cheap mobile phone.

It came back to him how the brother in his Robin days had asked him to help make a craft for Alfred: times change, hobbies do not.

— Why are you doing this at home? — He asked indignantly, wondering at the absurd way he put it. As though making a DIY remote-controlled explosive device in any other place would be righteous and useful.  
— It’s urgent. Hold it there, — Jason muttered shortly.

After the quarrel with Bruce Grayson felt like a balloon that was let go and swept away with the wind – higher and higher, to the open space and flat emptiness of the sky. He was ready to catch at any surface just to stop this reversal dip: something scary, blank and cruel had been looming ahead. 

— Such massive explosions cannot happen without occasional victims, — Dick had another try and received a world-weary look in return.  
— This time it will be Poison Ivy’s plants.  
— You can’t guarantee that no one else would get hurt!  
— No, I cannot, — Jason nodded, rising from the chair. — So what? Batman said, the only thing that can make the criminals keep within the law — is fear. But he works nights, lurks in the shadows, and nobody is actually afraid of him. True horror is caused by actions strong and bold, that —  
— This is called “terrorism”, Jay.  
— Fight fire with fire.

Endless murders covered the Red Hood with bloody crust: his impetuosity turned into cruelty, emotionality – into sadism. But was Nightwing any better? Tomorrow he would put on his costume and mask and try to stop the disturbances he himself was art and part in — “hold it there!” Does it make any difference whether to wander in the darkness of self-delusion or in the twilight of hypocrisy? One of them truly believed that he made the world a better place by killing people in dozens. The other one kept thinking that he remained a good guy.

— That's ludicrous.  
— Oh, fuck off.

Silence ensued. Jason pressed his lips together, raised his chin and narrowed his eyes. Dick cast a glance behind him: there was a gun lying on the rectangular beige back of the sofa.

— No, — he lifted his palm. — This won't do. We need to learn to speak to each other.  
It sounded quite ridiculous, as though he had been following some “Ten advice from a family psychologist” article.  
— Learn to speak? — Todd shook his head; a strand of hair crossed his eye. — You cannot, or what? Say “Ay”.

Another arduous conflict had been postponed and Grayson opened his mouth widely, prolonging the vowel. He had to think about the articulation: strained oval of his mouth, tongue pressed down to its floor. “A-ay” came out long, breathy and interrogative.  
He wasn’t surprised when the other’s finger slid between his half-open lips, just snorted a bit as he remembered those funny Internet videos with sleepy cats: “one cannot yawn without a finger stuck in”. He could bite the knuckle slightly, feel with his tongue the thin strips of plastic stuck to the skin — no tidiness when working. Jason’s hands have always been so cold! No big deal, he’ll warm them up just — 

A harsh slap in the face broke off the interaction. 

— We’re learning to speak, not to suck, — the partner made it clear that he had chosen another scenario. Dick had no objections. Such spontaneous games have always been more interesting and exciting, though not at all helping in resolving the accumulated inconsistencies between them.  
— Did you get me?  
— Yes.  
His teeth nipped the finger, his tongue stroked it when moving upwards. Every attempt to speak would result in licking his partner, that was much clear. He could say a little more:  
— Yes, I did.  
He had to shift the obstructive object sideways in order not to lose half of the sounds.  
— You talk too much, Dicky. Should have weaned you off long ago. 

Two more fingers joined the first one and pushed deeper inside, to the root of his tongue, making him open his mouth wider. Saliva slowly dripped from the corner of his lips down his chin.  
— Say “Bee”.  
Instead of the necessary sound, Dick produced some inarticulate mutter. He tried to draw back but the other’s hand kept holding him tight at the back of his head.  
— Why are you mumbling? Come on, open wide. Ba-atman.  
— Waatmaan.  
His throat clenched around the fingertips.  
— Nice going. You’re making good progress.  
The partner evoked unambiguous associations with Joker, like it was some kind of a clown performance. Only that Jason was not laughing — on the contrary, he was deadly serious. Just like — like Bruce.

— Now we can proceed to learning with another tool.  
Jason pulled him by the hair, making him kneel. Dick straightened his back and shoulders, as though he was going to recite poems to the audience. A black rubber handgrip of a screwdriver appeared before his face. Seriously? Taking such a mundane object in his mouth felt strange and unusual — no sense, no human warmth.   
— Cee.   
His tongue touched over the grooves of the handgrip. Jason had been working with the screwdriver just moments ago, so it was the same as licking his hand. Only… indirectly.  
— The next letter is the one your name begins with.   
He tousled Dick’s hair and smiled at him softly as if the latter indeed was a preschooler learning letters and not his elder brother standing on his knees with a freaking screwdriver in his wide-opened wet mouth.  
— Dee.  
The tip of his tongue tapped the screwdriver and lifted it up, scratching the roof of his mouth with the facets.  
— Right. What is your name?  
— Dick-kie! — Grayson copied those enthusiastic intonations from children's educational TV series. His partner was getting hard under his pants which made Dick do his best.   
— Very good.

The screwdriver abandoned his mouth, leaving a metallic aftertaste on his lips — the iron shaft had been inside too. Jason took the glue gun from the table, flipped the switch —  
no, this is unserious  
— Jay, you… —  
Another flap in the face reminded: say less.   
Dick stretched his tongue out and cautiously touched the nozzle covered with old glue, stuck-on scraps of foil and a thin offcut of wire. The device was heating up, its warmth being comfortable and pleasant as if he had placed his face under warm tap water. His wind-chapped lips acted as a kind of barrier between him and the heated piece of iron. Weird curiosity prompted him to protrude his tongue a little, and damn —   
— that did really hurt!

— Take it properly in your mouth. You are always doing things by halves.

Dick wanted to shake his head and clench his teeth as tight as possible, but —   
— all this was just an exotic and thrilling game. So he recaptured his vanishing excitement and kept sitting like a dog before its master, waiting until all these strange objects are replaced by the only one he cared about. 

He just had to open his mouth as wide as he could not to touch the hot parts and put his lips around the plastic casing, slightly warm, rough and sticky too.  
— Say “Ee”.  
It was a very simple sound, but still his tongue arched slightly, brushing against a blob of melted glue which oozed at the tip. White-hot heat pierced his nerves with a sharp, incredibly acute pain, and only a tremendous effort of will helped him to transform the cry into a goddamn “e-e-e”. Their game approached the red line, and Dick himself couldn’t understand whether this was arousing or disgusting. 

— Good boy, — he raised his eyes to see an encouraging nod. — Now letter “Jay”.  
— But…  
— Don’t you wish to pronounce the first letter of my name prior to any other?  
— J…— Dick began, but his tongue jerked back reflexively from the thing that caused pain. He made one more try which turned into a groan. Clear sound required an accentuated movement of the tongue. And for this he had to —

— You don’t like my name that much? — Jason’s tone became sharp and this started being scary. Dick wanted to push him away, to stop this strange and bewildering action. He recalled how several days ago he had been suspended, fixed between Jason’s dick and a collar he had been holding, and it was so hot and sensuous. But what was happening now was more akin to cold-blooded mockery.   
The partner moved aside, though the gun didn’t even stir. His hand lay on the back of Dick’s head, the fingers tangled in his hair:  
— Wason…  
— You don’t… — he drawled out thoughtfully and Dick felt that frightened and lusty twitch of anticipation below his stomach. He had long ago stopped wondering why he reacted to a promise of punishment the way he did. Maybe because there were tools in his mouth, with the help of which before his very eyes the explosive device had been assembled that would kill someone the next day? They could take it a step further: pliers, knife, soldering iron…  
His body responded with strange pliability, his tense posture relaxed submissively as Dick arched his back and drew his knees apart. The warmth in his mouth and crotch blurred the reality, making it difficult to concentrate on what was going on, and —

Dick cried and dug his fingers into the partner’s knees when the first drop of scorching viscous mass touched his tongue. He jerked his head back and the tip of the gun stuck into the inside of his cheek.  
— Try again.  
Soft imperious voice of a mentor tired of his pupil’s stupidity — normally, he loved when Jason sounded like that.  
— J — ay —  
What is wrong with him, why is he licking an incandescent piece of iron of his own accord? A crust of hardened glue on his tongue cracked from the movement and he had to swallow the little plastic chips that harshly scratched his gullet.  
— Think of it, you almost did it.

Pain hazed over everything. His tongue stuck in the hot glue filling his mouth. Dick flinched and scratched, sucking in breath with hissing sound, trying to cool the scald as much as he could. Tears rolled down his cheeks, slow and stringy. If you draw a line with melted plastic on your cheeks, there would be tears too, huh? He couldn’t believe that it was happening to him, then and there, that a man he confided in had crossed the line so easily.  
— Jason! — hell if he knew how he managed it. — Please!

Nightwing has often got injured, sometimes it was painful, sometimes life-threatening, but he has never yet felt so defenseless and vulnerable. So much suffering — and all of it caused by this little glue gun which even looked childish: roundish blue casing painted with orange lines.  
He didn’t notice the moment when the tool was replaced by Jason’s fingers that dug into the half-hardened mass inside, pulled the semi-dried layer of glue at the back of Dick’s tongue, tearing it off, and —  
— if it could get any worse, it surely would. The pain was acerbic and rough. Will he ever be able to feel taste again?

Grayson saw the drops pending on the tips of his eyelashes. A wet haze covered the world around him, he felt dizzy with languish nestling in his temples. His throat burned too, though the scald, of course, didn’t get that far. Jason was unzipping his pants, and Dick noticed absently the impulsive movements of his own body, which was still waiting eagerly.

Jason’s dick slid along the mutilated tongue. It has always seemed to be smooth, but now its harsh touches were arousing new waves of discomfort. Dick would have liked to take erection deeper in his throat, but the partner seemed to like feeling the fresh wound. Maybe it was just as well: coarse hairs in his mouth would have made this act inexpressibly torturous.

Jason stopped, his warm flesh just lying inside, its hot pulsation beating into the injured tissues. The waves of pain seemed to have complied with the rhythm, steady and soothing. All his sensations were aggregating around a hot lump swelling in his mouth.

He has never felt something like this before. A supernova seemed to ignite right inside of him, erasing the reality in a hot and radiant flash.   
He was again guided by the grip in his hair, his relaxed tongue rubbed against the cock on its own. Dick moaned and swayed. His jaw ached dully, the corners of his mouth strained unpleasantly — all these sensations seemed to be completely irrelevant, barely trickling through the languor.  
His knees went numb.  
A bitterish taste fell down his throat, a warm wave rolled from his gullet to his crotch, and with an intense cramp in his whole body orgasm overwhelmed him, stronger than ever before. Dick closed his eyes; everything behind his eyelids was not dark, but white; hundreds of thing golden threads were spinning, connecting him with Jason. They were a single system, and currents of energy conveyed pain and pleasure in it. 

— Are you all right?  
He was lifted from the floor and placed on the sofa. “Never do this again”, — he wanted to say, — “or I would never forgive you", but it seemed impossible to say so many words at once. His face was wet, his eyes were sore; the collar of his T-shirt was soaked with saliva dripping down from his chin.   
— It hurts…  
The phrase sounded surprisingly pathetic.

The partner laid him on his side, unzipped his jeans, pulled them down and Dick jerked in protest.   
— Relax, — soft lips kissed his temple. — A pill is not an option, so I’ll give you an injection and it won’t hurt anymore. We’ll estimate the damage later.

Dick agreed to be taken to the bathroom, rinsed his mouth with unpleasant salty liquid and snuggled under a blanket. Opioid analgesics made him feel cozy and safe, fatigue passed through his body, his warm tongue lay painlessly in his mouth. 

— I love you, Jay.  
The sounds blurred and dissolved, as though he was trying to build a castle from ice cubes that kept slipping from each other. It didn’t sound very romantic, something like “ay yaw u jay”. But Jason smiled, getting down on his knees near the sofa.   
— I love you too, Dicky, I do. The lesson is over.

Vague anxiety reminded him that there had been an important reason to remain conscious, and Dick found it the last second before sleep dragged his body down to the center of a dark swirl: would the Red Hood give up on that dangerous plan with the bomb?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my dear Anna Cat's favorite work. I am infinitely grateful for her help and support!


End file.
